


Deepest, Darkest Secret

by Samantha_Holmes19



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Heartbreak, Johnlock - Freeform, Love Confession, M/M, Scene Fix-It, Sherlock Season 04, Slow Burn, Some language and violence, TJLC, The Final Problem, The Final Problem fix-it, trust me the ending will be worth the pain!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 16:53:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10598193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samantha_Holmes19/pseuds/Samantha_Holmes19
Summary: "What's the worst thing you can do to your best friend? Tell them your darkest secret. Because once you tell them, and they don't accept it, you can't take it back." -Culverton SmithThe Final Problem fix-it! I've been working on this since the episode premiered. There is much angst and heartbreak in the beginning, but trust me, it'll be all worth it in the end!





	

**Author's Note:**

> *This chapter uses real dialog from the episode, The Final Problem, and of course I do not own any of that, that belongs respectfully to Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.

The three men walked into the new room and were greeted by nothing but the static sounds coming from the blank television, and a small, open casket in the center. 

“Now, back to the matter at hand – coffin,” came Eurus’ voice, her face appearing on the monitor. “Problem – someone is about to die. It will be as I understand a tragedy. So many days not lived, so many words unsaid, etc. etc. etc… etc.”

“Yes, yes, and this, I presume will be their coffin,” Sherlock butted in. He was getting really tired of these ‘games’ that his sister was playing with them.

Eurus smiled through the monitor. This game was going to be the biggest test for her brother, and she was eager to see how he handled it. Hopefully it wouldn’t be boring – she hated boring. “Who’s coffin Sherlock…? Please, start your deductions. I will apply some context in a moment.”

All three men turned their gaze from the monitor to the casket. What were they supposed to do with an empty casket? It wasn’t very big, that’s for sure.

“Someone around 5’4’’, probably a woman,” Sherlock deduced. “It’s a cheaper looking coffin but not shabby, so someone who doesn’t have a lot of money, but isn’t a bum either… Perhaps middle class? Working class?”

The detective practically climbed into the casket himself to analyze the lacy bedding and texture of wood while his brother took a more practical approach and went to look at the lid that was propped up against the wall. 

“Yes, very good Sherlock, or we can just look at the name on the lid.”

Both Sherlock and John looked over at Mycroft before walking to him. Mycroft turned the lid around to reveal a small golden nameplate that was attached.

“Though, it’s not really a name, is it?”

Instead of a name, there were three small words etched into the gold – _I Love You_.

“So, it’s for somebody who loves somebody,” said John.

“Someone who loves _Sherlock_ ,” Mycroft corrected. “This is all about you, everything here.” Both men turned their heads towards the detective and watched as he turned back towards the casket; his mind already going into overdrive to try to solve this puzzle. 

“So, who loves you?” his brother continued. “I’m assuming it’s not a long list.”

John bit his lip and glanced only for a moment in Mycroft’s direction. He knew the man was trying to make a joke and make light of this situation but it wasn’t a joke. They had already witnessed five people die today, and that was five more than John had ever wanted to see again. He crossed his arms and followed slowly behind Sherlock, trying just as hard to put the pieces together. Smaller woman who loved Sherlock…

“Irene Adler,” he said, looking up at his flatmate.

Sherlock quickly shot that down, someone else already on his mind. “Don’t be ridiculous, look at the coffin… Unmarried, practical about death… Alone.”

“Molly.”

“Molly Hooper.”

“Wrong.” Eurus’ face came back onto the monitor and she had the look of utter annoyance on her face. “Really Sherlock? And I thought you were cleverer than that. I give you all the clues and you can’t even put them together? Please tell me, how are you still in business?” Now she was just mocking him.

John tightened his jaw as he looked at her while Sherlock kept his face as neutral as he could.

“You’re not suggesting it really is Irene, are you?” Sherlock asked, his voice trying to remain even.

Eurus just gave her brother a deadpan look, the very same one that Sherlock gave John whenever he was being obvious or asked an ‘idiotic question.’ John had to bite his lip to stop himself from chuckling – yup, she was _definitely_ a Holmes.

“No, dear brother. Wow, do I really have to explain everything to you?” She dramatically sighed and leaned forward in her chair so her face took up even more of the screen. “First mistake, you thought, or rather, _Mycroft_ thought the engraving on the lid meant that it was for someone who loves you, that you didn’t even stop to think that maybe the coffin is actually for someone that _you_ love, Sherlock.”

Both Mycroft and John turned their heads to look at the detective. Sherlock seemed to freeze all together. The only movement coming from him was an increase in his eyes blinking – just the same as when John had practically rebooted his system when he asked him to be his best man. His throat had also gone dry – making it very hard to swallow or even breathe, it felt like. 

“I…” he started, his voice very soft. “But… I… I don’t love anyone…” He could feel his cheeks burning, and Eurus could certainly tell, if her coy smile had anything to say about it.

“Oh dear brother… But we both know that’s not quite true…”

Sherlock’s eyes snapped wide open as he stared at his sister. Those words, they were said to him before. Years ago, at the side of a swimming pool. Eurus started to laugh, loving this effect she was having on her brother. 

“Alright then, since you’re playing dumb, let’s add some incentive,” Eurus said, those last few words practically slithering out of her mouth like a poisonous snake. The screen then changed to show four different surveillance videos. “Now tell me Sherlock, what are you looking at?” came his sister’s voiceover. 

Sherlock swallowed as he looked at the footage in front of him, and he had a sinking feeling about all of this. “Molly in her kitchen, Mrs. Hudson watching television, Lestrade in his office, and my parents reading,” he answered.

“Five people that you care for, correct?” Eurus asked in a rather chipper voice. “Five people that you would do anything for, yes—“

“—What are you playing at?!” Sherlock interrupted, his breathing coming in a little faster than he would have wanted. 

Eurus couldn’t hold in her delighted laughter as the screen jumped back to show her face. “That’s it Sherlock! That’s the passion I want to see!” This was all a twisted game for her own enjoyment. “Now I will admit, I stole this from Jim, but then again, he was always so brilliant at getting people to do what he wanted…”

“Stole what?” The detective asked, his voice low. 

“I told you… _context_ …” She stared directly into her brother’s eyes as she smirked like the devil himself. It was almost scary just how much she reminded Sherlock of Moriarty. The way she looked at him made his stomach twist.

“I want to take you back a few years, dear brother,” she said. “Back to that lovely day up on the roof of Bart’s… Being the clever boy you are, you found a way around Jim’s plan, but not before you still exposed yourself. You told John Watson that you were a fake. You made him stand there on the ground, and watch as you jumped.”

Sherlock didn’t dare steal a glance at John but he could feel the pain and anger radiating off him as he was forced to relive that moment. 

“You jumped off that roof, and unknowingly shattered the life of your best friend,” Eurus continued.

“You have no right to talk about that day or about me,” John said, his voice dangerously low and angry. “You know _nothing_ about me.”

“Oh, I know everything about you, Doctor Watson. More, in fact, than you know yourself.” Her face now turned to directly look at John. “For instance, do you know _why_ my brother jumped off that roof? Do you know _why_ he shot Magnusson? Do you know _why_ he left your wedding early? Or _why_ he turned back to drugs? Or why he does _half_ the things he does?”

John locked his jaw and shifted his eyes to look over at Sherlock. It was true, he had never really asked why he had jumped, or left early. He always just chalked it up to Sherlock being Sherlock. The detective, however, looked like someone was punching him in the stomach, and when he looked back at his sister, his eyes were practically begging her to stop talking. 

“You called yourself a fake up on that roof, Sherlock, because it’s true. You’ve been faking since that very first night, haven’t you?” Eurus taunted. 

“Stop it, please,” the detective whispered brokenly.

“No, I won’t. Time to tell the truth, dear brother. You know _exactly_ who that coffin is for.”

“And if I choose not to play?”

“Remember that footage of your friends and family?” Eurus asked as the four video screens came back on the monitor. “If you don’t play my game, I think I’ll finish what Jim started,” she said as five little red sniper dots appeared on the five people on screen – Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and Sherlock’s parents.

“No, don’t! Stop!” Sherlock said, practically lunging at the screen. John and Mycroft both did the same – a sort of automatic response to protect. Mycroft had his hand covering his mouth and eyes blown wide while John kept looking from the screen to Sherlock and back again. Sherlock didn’t know which footage to look at and could feel himself start to shake slightly in a panic.

“Now brother, if you’d please…” she said in that same taunting voice. “And remember, _passion_.”

Sherlock looked over at the camera in the room. His chest was rising and falling a little more rapidly than he wished. This was cruel. She was forcing him to confront his deepest secret and then ripping it out of him without much consent. He closed his eyes and hung his head briefly, forcing himself to hold back the hot tears that threatened to surface – tears of embarrassment and fear.

“For Christ sake, Sherlock!” Mycroft exclaimed suddenly, his own breathing a little faster than a moment prior. “Tell us who you love! This isn’t a game anymore, these are _real_ people that we know in _real_ danger!” 

“Don’t you think I fucking know that?!” Sherlock yelled back at his brother, rounding on him. Despite his outburst, his eyebrows were turned upwards, making his eyes look even sadder and scared. “You act as if I’m just talking about the weather, but this is a lot more complicated than that,” he said. “But you wouldn’t even understand how hard this is, would you, brother mine?” His tone was direct and pointed - stinging like a wasp. “ _Sentiment_ and all.”

Mycroft’s chin trembled a little in anger, not used to being yelled at by his little brother. He turned around and sulked slightly back towards the wall. He didn’t mean to yell; but this was a very high-stakes situation that Eurus had put them in. And it was basically all resting on Sherlock’s shoulders. He did pity him though – he couldn’t imagine what must be going on in his little brother’s head.

Sherlock was pacing back and forth feverishly. His head and his heart were in a battle with each other. There was a reason why he had never truly let his feelings be known. Despite the attitude that he gave of not caring about what other people thought about him, deep down he really was just a scared, emotional little boy; and he cared a lot – specifically about one person in particular. 

Moriarty’s face burst on the screen to heighten the tension in the room. “Tick tock brother dear… Or your friends will all be seeing red…” Eurus taunted. 

“Stop it!” Sherlock yelled, almost falling to the floor in a tizzy mess of limbs. He closed his eyes again and took a deep breath. It was time to stop being scared. He had to do it. 

_Whether he accepts me or not… I have to do it._

The detective stood up slowly and turned around so that he faced John. In one brief second he could see the slight confusion in John’s face as he looked at him, and it made Sherlock close his eyes again as a defense mechanism.

_I can’t do this. I can’t._

_You have to. It’s the only way to save everyone._

_He’s going to hate me._

_He will not hate you. John could never hate you._

The detective squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head to clear it. He slowly opened his eyes to see John still looking him over. His eyes were soft and warm, and still a _little_ confused; and it made Sherlock huff out a small laugh, relaxing him. They were the same eyes he saw after they came home from chasing a criminal. They were the same eyes that lit up whenever he made a rather impressive deduction. And they were the same eyes that he had looked into for the past seven years, hoping.

“John,” he started softly, taking one step closer to him. He felt nerves rack up his spine, making his tongue feel a thousand times too thick for his mouth. 

“I… Well, I…” Fuck, he felt like a stupid little schoolboy. “I must admit, I never would have thought I was going to be doing this in a high-security prison,” he started, trying to make a joke for his own sanity. “I always pictured we’d be at home, or somewhere safe like Angelo’s. Also never pictured my brother here,” he said as he looked over to the wall where Mycroft was carefully watching. 

John carefully watched Sherlock’s face, trying to pick up everything that was playing across his face. He was starting to ramble – a sign that he was nervous about something. Sherlock never got nervous though… “Pictured what?” he asked. “What are you talking about Sherlock?”

 _Sink or swim – there’s no turning back now._

“Do you remember that day on the tarmac?” Sherlock started, trying to collect his thoughts. “The one when I thought I was going to be exiled?”

John nodded his head, picturing that day clearly. 

“And I told you that there was always something I wanted to tell you? You remember that?”

John nodded again. “You said that Sherlock was really a girl’s name.” He smiled slightly – despite the situation they were in right now – thinking back to that moment. “But I don’t understand what that has to do with this.”

Sherlock took another deep breath and looked down at his shoes for a moment before returning to John’s gaze. “I thought I was never going to see you again, John. You had been the best friend, and most incredible man that I had ever had the pleasure of knowing… And I knew I would regret it for the rest of my life if I didn’t tell you,” he said, voice cracking slightly as his true feelings started to rise up. 

“But seeing Mary behind you…” Now his voice _really_ cracked and his eyes became glassy all of a sudden. “I couldn’t do it. You were so happy with her, and I couldn’t be selfish. I had been selfish so many times before with your dates and girlfriends because I wanted you for myself… But I couldn’t do that anymore.” He sniffled and wiped the hot tears away harshly. “No matter how much it hurt seeing you with someone else.”

John’s brow was furrowed but his eyes never left Sherlock’s throughout his whole speech. His first instinct was to reach out and place a hand on his friend’s shoulder in an effort to comfort him. He had only seen Sherlock reach an emotional spike like this one a few times before, but they were usually all for a case. He had seen the man cry right next to murderers in order to get their confession, he had seen him comfort an abducted little girl by holding her close and rocking until she fell asleep at the Yard, he had even seen him get choked up when Rosie first gave the detective a true, genuine smile, but never before had John seen Sherlock Holmes look so lost and scared himself.

“Seeing me with someone else?” he repeated softly, more to himself to go over the words Sherlock had just said. “Sherlock, I still don’t understand what that day has to do wi—“ But the ex-army doctor cut himself off, everything suddenly clicking together in his head. 

The reason why Sherlock always sabotaged John’s dates, the reason why he seemed so reserved when they were planning the wedding, the reason why he looked so sad for the brief second when he told them Mary was expecting, the reason behind every time he turned back to the hard drugs, the reason why Magnussen said John was Sherlock’s pressure point, the true meaning behind what Sherlock had wanted to say on the tarmac… it was all so clear now.

John’s eyes widened slightly as he looked at Sherlock through a whole new lens. His own cheeks were started to burn as Sherlock’s unsaid words hung in the air. He broke away from the detective’s eyes only to look at that coffin on the table. It wasn’t for Molly, or Irene, or any woman, it was for _him_. 

“I think it was after that very first case,” Sherlock started again, unable to take any more of the sterile silence that poisoned the room. “When you shot that cabbie for me. You saved my life that night, John, and I think that’s when it happened.”

“When what happened?” John asked, his voice barely audible. He finally tore his eyes away from the coffin to look back up at his flatmate. He was greeted with blue eyes that were so distressed and so lost, he could have sworn he was talking to the victim rather than the detective.

“When I fell in love with you.”

The confession should have brought relief and happiness, or at least that’s the image that always danced around the detective’s head whenever he allowed himself to imagine it. But that had been a fantasy. In reality, the confession left Sherlock feeling miserable and vulnerable with tears streaking down his cheeks, staining them. 

His confession just hung there in the air, suffocating the room. This is why Sherlock had never acted upon his feelings, this is why he tried as hard as he could to push sentiment out of his life; this is what he had been terrified of.

“John please say something,” Sherlock pleaded in a desperate whisper, needing something, _anything_ , to break this smothering silence.

The shorter man was biting down on his lip so much, he made himself bleed. He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to think. He desperately wished he could be _anywhere_ else other than right here. Hell, he’d even take being back on the battlefield than this place right now because being shot at over and over again was better than facing emotions for John Watson; and especially when those emotions revolved around his flatmate. 

Prior to The Fall, John noticed that he would stare at Sherlock with a little more awe when he made his deductions, and on a couple of occasions did he find himself oogling his arse whenever he wore those black trousers that hugged him just right. Hell, he had even felt his heart swell just a tiny bit more whenever the detective praised him on cases as well as at home. But John Watson was _not gay dammit_. He had never before thought about any other man in such a way. But Sherlock Holmes was not just any other man – which is why John didn’t think anything of it when he felt himself fall into a deep depression after he had jumped off that roof. Sherlock had changed his life in so many ways, and he loved him for that, and he kicked himself every day for not telling Sherlock that before he jumped.

_Love._

But once he had met Mary, John would look back on all those moments with Sherlock and try to pass them off like they were nothing. The way Sherlock could make John laugh without meaning to, the genuine, real smile that he would give him that he rarely ever gave to anyone else, the way Sherlock would just watch and observe John that would make his heart beat a little faster, none of that could have been love. No way. No, what he had with _Mary_ was love…

Or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself whenever his thoughts found their way back to the tall detective with beautiful icy eyes and sharp cheekbones that he would have loved to kiss. 

He had so easily told Mary’s ghost that he couldn’t be the man that she had wanted him to be because she was a figment of his imagination. But saying anything to the flesh and blood detective that was standing right in front of him, John couldn’t bring any words to the surface. Because he was scared too. Because facing Sherlock’s truth meant facing his as well, and he wasn’t ready to do that. Not just yet.

John didn’t even know he was lost in his own thoughts until the muffled, distant sound of Sherlock’s voice called him back up to the surface. He snapped his eyes closed, feeling them suddenly become very dry. His hand came up to rub his eyes before straightening his shoulders and standing upright to face his flatmate – his armor going up.

“What would you like me to say?” he asked, his voice cold and strained. He didn’t mean to sound that harsh, but he wasn’t in his right mind. It was like his own fear had seized up his brain.

As soon as the words left John’s mouth, it was like a dagger had been shoved into Sherlock’s heart. That was it then, John didn’t need to say anymore. He tried as best as he could to keep his face neutral, to not show the pain and heartbreak that was eating up his insides, but even the world’s only consulting detective couldn’t help his eyes from turning glassy again as his stomach squeezed itself into a knot. 

_Rejection. No one could ever love you, freak._

Sherlock cursed himself as he felt his bottom lip tremble and he immediately closed his eyes and turned his head slightly to look away from John. He wanted to melt into the floor. He wanted to crawl into the coffin and be buried alive. He wanted those snipers to turn on him and shoot. He would have taken any form of torture over these heartbreaking thoughts and feelings.

But this _was_ his torture. This is what Eurus had wanted all along. A fun game at her brother’s expense.

The sound of clapping filled the room through the speakers and Eurus’ face soon appeared back on the television screen.

“Oh Sherlock, that was _brilliant_!” she congratulated, her twisted smile looking even more sinister with the obvious joy that was dancing on top of it. “Well done indeed! You know, I should really give you more credit, I didn’t think you had it in you to actually confess your feelings.”

The detective turned towards the screen but he looked directly into the camera in the corner of the room. His hurt was now anger. Angry that she had ripped his deepest emotions out of him without his consent, angry that she made him stand naked and vulnerable in front of John with no way to protect himself, angry that because of her, John couldn’t even look at him anymore, and angry that she thought all of this was a fun joke.

“I played by your rules, now call off the snipers,” he growled, the vein in his forehead popping.

“What snipers?” 

Sherlock’s eyes widened as he brow furrowed in confusion. He turned back to look at the monitor and saw the red dots disappear from his friends and parents.

“Did you _actually_ think I would be stupid enough to risk them noticing a red dot on them while I waited for you to finish up your sap fest?” The laughter that filled the room was cruel and mocking. “No, no, no, Sherlock. They’re all perfectly safe. I just needed a way for you to speed up your cute little love confession.”

The dagger was pushed in even deeper, embarrassment was setting in fast.

“You horrid, sick, fucking bitch!” John exclaimed, practically charging the monitor as if Eurus was actually standing there. “So all of this was for nothing?! You just wanted to watch Sherlock say those things for your own sick pleasure?!” 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Doctor Watson, such a temper you have…” she smirked at him. “You should be thanking me! If not for me, Sherlock would have never had the nerve to finally tell you how he felt about you! And you as a doctor should know that bottling something like that up for so long isn’t good for one’s health.” Her icy eyes shifted to look at Sherlock and her smirk curled up even more. “Aww, look at my brother… He’s _blushing_ … He likes when you defend him, Doctor Watson,” she mocked.

That was it, that was the last straw. Sherlock was done being a puppet for his sister. He was done being laughed at and mocked and he was done being trapped in this twisted Saw trap that she had developed for them. He walked back over to the coffin and started to smash it. He needed to get his anger out, he needed to destroy the object that started this whole debacle. This is what she had wanted all along. She had made the coffin intended for John because she knew Sherlock’s confession would kill any sort of relationship – friend or romantic – they had. 

That thought alone – the idea that he had just lost John forever – that was the one that completely desolated the wooden box.

“Always the dramatic, aren’t you Sherlock,” Eurus said, gazing at him with a tilt of her head. That teasing, mock-innocent smile ever present. “Now, come on, one last puzzle for you…” she said as the door on the other side of the room slid open. 

All three men looked over at the light pooling through the opening, beckoning for them to enter.

Sherlock slid down the wall into a sitting position and put his head down on his knees. He was breathing very heavily, completely overwhelmed and tired of these puzzles and games. He lifted his head slightly to look over at John and saw the man straighten up a little more when they made eye contact. John’s eyes looked over the detective briefly before turning towards the door and walking through it. Sherlock hung his head again and covered it with his hands. He felt like he was going to be sick. John couldn’t even stand to be in the same room with him now. 

Mycroft walked over to his brother and knelt down to put his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. He couldn’t even imagine what was going on in his little brother’s head, but he wanted him to know that he was here for him. Mycroft always saw Sherlock as the lost little five-year-old that he could protect, and now more than ever did the older man want to protect his brother from the pain that was splattered across his face. 

Sherlock gave Mycroft a small nod of thanks and stood up with his brother’s help. He straightened his jacket and wiped the dust off before starting towards the open door – back into battle.

When he entered the room, he found that it was bare except for a canvas on the floor and a monitor against the wall.

“Hey sis, don’t mean to complain, but this one’s empty. Run out of ideas?” Sherlock said with a bit of a bite to his voice.

“It’s not empty Sherlock,” Eurus said, her face appearing on the monitor. “You still have the gun, haven’t you?”

Sherlock looked down at the object in his hand before looking up at John and Mycroft. His eyes quickly shifted back down to the white canvas on the floor, and it was suddenly very clear what this game would be. 

“Only two can play this game,” Eurus continued, confirming Sherlock’s thoughts. “It’s ‘make your mind up time.’ Who’s help do you need the most? John or Mycroft? It’s an elimination round: you choose one and kill the other.”

Both Mycroft and John looked at Sherlock with shock on their faces before looking at each other. Sherlock just stared at the gun in his hand, almost becoming numb to the world around him. There had to be another way out of this situation, there just had to be. His eyes darted around the room to think of different possible escape routes, but when he finally came back up to the surface, he was faced with the horrible realization that there was no way out.

“You have to choose. Family or friend? Mycroft or John Watson?”

The monitor went black again and all three men blew out staggering breaths that none of them knew they had been holding in. They all looked at one another, unable to process what was just instructed to Sherlock. The detective could barely look at either of them. How could his own sister make him do this?

“Well, I guess I’ll break the tension,” Mycroft said as he straightened his suit jacket. “All I ask is you don’t shoot me in the head, I promised my brain to science,” he said with a small chuckle hidden in his voice. Sherlock’s eyes widened in confusion as he stared at his brother.

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

Mycroft gave him a deadpan look and rolled his eyes. “Sherlock, you just told this man that you loved him a moment ago,” he said as he looked over at John. His eyes were softer than usual as he looked over the doctor before looking back at his brother. “You and I both know that I don’t stand a chance when it comes to me versus Doctor Watson.”

“Wait,” John said, stepping forward and interjecting. “Out of the three of us, only two of us are geniuses, and we all know it’s not me,” he said. “You two could outsmart Moriarty, you can take down your sister. I’d probably just get in the way.” When those words left John’s mouth, his face turned pale and his eyes suddenly turned glassy. “You don’t need me.” He was a soldier, and soldiers accepted death.

“That’s not true John, and you know it,” Sherlock said, taking a step closer to his friend. “Don’t sell yourself short.” He took a risk and put his hand on John’s shoulder, relieved when he didn’t pull away or shake him off him. “I could have never solved those crimes without you. You’re the key to it all John Watson. _You make me better_.”

John looked up at Sherlock for a moment and Sherlock could have sworn time froze. Those dark blue eyes that he had shared so many memories with over these last seven years, they were frightened in this moment, and Sherlock wanted desperately to take that fear away. 

He _needed_ John in his life, more than anything. And despite what it may look like on the outside, he loved his brother more than he would ever admit. He stepped back and squatted down, putting his head in his hands.

He knew what he had to do.

Sherlock stood back up and took in a deep breath to clear his head. The room turned red as Moriarty’s face came on the screen to hurry Sherlock up with his decision. He stepped back so he was equal distance from Mycroft and John. 

“Mycroft,” he started, looking at his brother. “I don’t think I ever thanked you for everything you did for me when I overdosed – the first, _and_ second time,” he said, biting down on his lip as he started to feel choked up. “We’ve been so childish these past few years with our stupid pride, but I hope you know how much I admire you.”

Sherlock then turned to look at John and couldn’t help but smile. “And you, John Watson… you’ve saved me more times than you could ever imagine, in so many ways. I will always love you.” He saw John’s jaw tighten as he kept eye contact with him. 

“And I love you too, big brother,” he said, looking back at Mycroft. “Which is why I could never kill either of you.” He turned his head to look at the camera in the corner of the room. “I refuse to play this game,” he spat out bitterly. “I’m done playing by your rules, dear sister.” He quickly looked back at both men before closing his eyes. 

“You said only two can play this game, so I’m putting my best men on the job.”

He looked at John one last time before raising the gun and pointing back at himself, at his stomach.

“Sherlock, no!” John screamed, but it was too late. The detective pulled the trigger and crumpled to the floor as the bullet disappeared inside his torso. He could faintly hear John’s and Mycroft’s voices calling his name, but they sounded so far away. He was losing consciousness fast, but he knew he had to do it, he knew this was the only way to win this game.

The last thing he remembered as he blacked out was John’s hands pressing down on his stomach, and the words, “don’t you leave me again,” being whispered over and over again.

**Author's Note:**

> So sorry to leave you guys with that cliffhanger! Next chapter will be out soon, so if you want to know what happens next, make sure you follow the story! Kudos and comments are much appreciated :)


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